


Pale Blue Cool

by gwyllion



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllion/pseuds/gwyllion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I can’t write Merlin worth a shit, but thanks to Lola for letting me riff off her boys from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/336033">this.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale Blue Cool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wangler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wangler/gifts).



“Please.”

Arthur hopes that Merlin’s breathless plea means that he is still welcome in his arms.

In his heart.

In his bed.

He presses his palm against the small of Merlin’s back, easing him closer. He feels so fragile, his thin limbs chilled against Arthur’s warmth. They lie like this for an hour, sunk in the velvet finery of the king’s bedchamber. The acrid smell of soot from Merlin’s hair makes Arthur’s nose tingle in a near sneeze.

Beneath the blankets, Merlin sleeplessly takes Arthur’s hand and twines their fingers together.

Arthur knows he doesn’t deserve this. He exhales and blinks back the prickle of moisture from his eyes, grateful that his chambers are still swallowed in the darkness before sunrise. Merlin traces circles around Arthur’s knuckles with a thumb singed and blackened by the firestorm his magic caused.

If Arthur has learned anything in the two days that have passed with Merlin bedridden, exhausted from battle, it’s that he can’t expect him to be used as an instrument of war without facing some consequences. The best Arthur can do is give his word that this will never be asked of him again and hope that Merlin believes him.

Arthur would rather lose a thousand men than have Merlin tormented by dreams of the maelstrom he conjured. It’s one thing for Merlin to bespell Arthur and his men with charms that will protect them from Camelot’s enemies, it’s quite another to incinerate the opposing armies with a flash of gold, sending a hundred mother’s sons charred into the earth with Camelot’s grief-struck sorcerer standing over them, babbling like an idiot.

Never again will Arthur insinuate that Merlin must serve Camelot in this manner, knowing the kindness of his soul and how much pain it causes him to use his magic to gain an unfair advantage. Arthur hopes it’s not too late to pull Merlin from the brink of sorrow toward which he has pushed him. He’d promise Merlin whatever he wanted, his kingdom itself, whatever he desired, just as long as Arthur could see the pale blue-cool of his eyes again, instead of the blackened stare of mourning over the conflagration wrought by his hands at Arthur’s request.

He feels the rumble as it rolls through Merlin’s core and recognizes the problem at once. He has kept watch over Merlin whilst he slept these days away, never waking to take a bite of food or a sip of mead.

“Can I feed you something?” Arthur whispers, his lips pushing a clump of matted hair from Merlin’s eyes. “You need to eat. It’s been two days.”

“I’m only hungry for sleep,” Merlin says, burrowing a cheek deeper into the pillow.

Arthur rubs circles over the fabric of his softest woolen shift that enwraps Merlin’s lithe body. The warmth spreads from Arthur’s hand, too faint to ward off Merlin’s shivering. He twists to reach for the duvet at the foot of the bed, wanting to keep as much bodily contact with Merlin as possible, lest he lose more heat. He tugs blindly at it with one fist and drapes it across Merlin, tucking the plush around his shoulders, cocooning them both beneath the down.

“Sleep, love,” says Arthur, touching his lips to Merlin’s forehead. “There’ll be time for food tomorrow.”

Merlin relaxes into his embrace. Arthur listens to Merlin’s breath as he sleeps, grateful that he has allowed this intimate contact after all Arthur has asked of him when they marched onto the battlefield.

He won’t ask for it again. Not when it nearly caused him to lose Merlin.

Arthur dozes, his dreams interrupted by thoughts of his father’s war on magic and the irony of how he opposes it just as much as Uther did, but for entirely different reasons.

When the sun slides across Arthur’s windowsill, he wakes and slips out of bed, leaving Merlin asleep in the nest of blankets.

In the corridor outside his chambers, Arthur considers sending a servant to bring food from the kitchens. He decides to go himself, lest he threaten to flog anyone who might wake Merlin unnecessarily upon their return with some sustenance for the sorcerer and his king. Such behavior would hardly be appropriate toward a citizen of Camelot whose life Arthur was charged to protect.

He returns to his chambers carrying a tray of crumpets smeared with butter and jam from the same berries that Merlin loves to feed into Arthur’s mouth when they are alone on hunt or questing in the woodlands of the kingdom.

As quietly as possible, he sets the tray beside the bed and slides beneath the covers again.

For a while, he just watches Merlin breathe. In the early morning light, he notices that the ashes have stained the pillow dark and he remembers the promise he made to wash Merlin’s hair. He tentatively touches the clumped strands where the hair normally curls behind Merlin’s ear when he leaves it untamed by the barber’s blade and comb. The ends have been singed into a jagged mess of burnt crinkles that crumble to the bedding with Arthur’s touch.

Outside the window, a bird chirrups to welcome the first rays of the rising sun. Arthur listens to its call while his hand rises and falls with Merlin’s chest. He wishes for Merlin to awaken happily like he did when he was Arthur’s manservant, long before he became his consort and Chief Sorcerer of Camelot.

Inches from Arthur’s face, Merlin’s eyes flutter open and his wish comes true.


End file.
